


Everything’s Coming Up Milhouse!

by PrettyRacing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Jon is smitten, Robb Stark Lives, Robb Stark is King in the North, Robb Stark is a Gift, and why not everything else since no one will leave him alone, hints of Jonsa, in case you couldn't tell from the title this is crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyRacing/pseuds/PrettyRacing
Summary: Everything’s coming up Milhouse for Robb Stark.  crack!fic.
Relationships: Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Roslin Frey/Robb Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Everything’s Coming Up Milhouse!

**Author's Note:**

> [insert gif of Milhouse from the Simpsons leaping into the air with Robb Stark's head crudely photoshopped over his]

* * *

“We want Tywin Lannister to give chase. Let him pass through the Riverlands, but once he’s in the West, do not let him back through. We want him trapped as far from King’s Landing as possible, unable to aide for when whatever Baratheon King sacks the city.” Robb Stark reiterated the plan he and his closest bannermen had formed the previous night. His uncle Edmure had been at the meeting but had an entire flagon of wine to himself and seemed to care more about the serving girls than battle plans. 

“Oh. Aye, your grace. A wise plan,” Edmure nodded, definitely seeming like this was the first he’d heard the plan. 

Robb refrained from rolling his eyes, barely. “Aye,” he echoed. “The Riverlands are yours, Uncle.” 

* * *

Jeyne Westerling was pretty, kind, and smiled at Robb like he hung the moon in the sky just for her. Robb desperately wanted to stay at the Crag forever staring into her luminous eyes and apple cheeks. But as soon as his injury healed enough for him to sit a horse, he was off, an embroidered handkerchief stuffed in his gauntlet and Jeyne’s teary visage burned in his vision. Tywin Lannister was already in the West, and Robb had ground to make up and battles to win. Black Walder made a few unkind comments about the lovestruck girl he was leaving behind that had Robb glaring, but the Frey was quick to wax poetically about the beauty of some of his kin (some who he had intimate knowledge of), reminding Robb unsubtly of his vow. 

Soon enough, Robb’s mind was full of strategy and bloodlust for Lannisters, and his infatuation of the pretty girl lost.

* * *

“I will grant lordship of Casterly Rock to you, Lord Tyson, when you and your fleet bring me Asha and Theon Greyjoy, and any other Kraken claiming credit for murdering the old and young of the North.” 

Tyson Lannister’s eyes gleamed. As predicted, the Lannisters of Lannisport cared more for gold than their distant kin. “Your Grace, it will be done.” Lord Tyson and his retinue leave, eager for gold and glory, or just eager to claim Casterly Rock while Lord Tywin still had his head, just to rub it in. Robb had taken the man’s children as hostages as insurance, but it appeared holding the lesser Lannisters in line would be easier than predicted even with Casterly Rock sacked and most of the wealth split between the North and the Riverlands. 

“Your Grace!” Olyvar was out of breath as he passed the leaving Lannisters and hailed Robb. “You must come see!” Olyvar led a mystified Robb out of his temporary solar and to the great hall of Casterly Rock. 

“Ah, your Grace!” Ryman Frey bowed as much as his large belly allowed as Robb approached. “A surprise from my Grandfather,” Ryman moved and Robb takes in the five girls standing in a line, all with hopeful expressions on their faces. “The cream of the crop, the loveliest ladies of the Crossing, and what would be grander to celebrate your victory over Tywin Lannister than a wedding!” 

Robb was at a loss for words. The five girls before him were prettier than rumored, maybe a Frey bride will not be the doom and gloom he had been dreading. 

“My sister, Roslin, is the second on the left,” Olyvar whispered in his ear. And she was one of the prettier, she and Fair Wanda, as Ryman introduced the girls. Roslin was smaller than her kin, long brown hair, pale skin, pretty face with a delicate nose and small chin, lustrous brown eyes that gleamed similar to a forgotten girl in the Crag. She has a slight gap between her front teeth when she smiled, but it was charming instead of a detracting. Robb liked Olyvar, he was a good squire, easy with a smile and a joke. And his oldest brother Ser Perwyn was one of the more tolerable Freys (although Black Walder was growing on him, the man had a very dark sense of humor appreciated on the battlefield). 

Thus Robb Stark married Roslin Frey only two days later before the twisted weirwood in the Stone Garden of Casterly Rock. After two weeks of wedded bliss he sent his bride off to Riverrun for safety and he resumed his campaign. 

* * *

“Congratulations, your Grace,” A soft voice called to Robb. Robb was grateful to run across another person, he had stepped into the gardens for a breath of fresh air and he had quickly become lost in the never-ending paths twisting between more plants he even knew existed. But the people of Highgarden were cloying and he got the impression that if given the opportunity he would be stabbed in the back the second an opening arose, so when the opportunity to escape presented he took it, perhaps too hastily. Supposedly there were three weirwood trees in the godswood, but Robb had yet to see a glimmer of the red leaves.

Grey Wind wagged his tail as the woman approached, a rare sight from his battle-hardened wolf. The woman was wearing all black, and her brown hair tumbled loose over her shoulders, softly curling down her back. The black gown highlighted her slender but womanly figure and smooth, pale skin. Her large, brown eyes drew him in, it has been months since he saw his wife’s similar brown eyes. 

“Congratulations?” He asked, Robb was leading the most successful campaign across Westeros since three dragons once flew high (More successful, the Greatjon argued, because Robb had no dragons and only one direwolf). But that seemed a bit odd for a lady to congratulate him over ravaging the Westlands. 

“Queen Roslin is with child, I think Lord Frey sent a Raven to every house, great and small, in the seven kingdoms.” 

“Ah, yes. That he did,” Robb nodded, he had been a bit disappointed to hear it, only because he had been eager for repeat encounters with his wife, but now it was unlikely he would see her until the babe was born. Riverrun was the safest place for his wife and unborn child.

“Have you seen the Three Singers yet, your Grace? I would be happy to show you the way.” 

“Those are the weirwood trees?” She nodded and Robb held his arm for her to link with. “Pardon my rudeness, my lady, but I don’t think I caught your name?” Robb had met a thousand smiling women in Highgarden, they did not seem to care that he was a married man, and not one had a name stick in his mind. 

“Margaery, your Grace.” 

“Oh, Margaery Tyrell, err, Baratheon?” Robb stumbled. He hated politicking and courtly niceties. 

“That would be me. And Tyrell is correct. Unfortunately my marriage was never consummated, as dear Renly was in the thick of battle.”

That was not how Robb heard it, but he hardly dared to mention the rumors about her late husband. “I am sorry for your loss. From what I heard, Renly was a good, reasonable man.”

“Reasonable, unlike his brother.” Before Robb can comment on how unreasonable King Stannis truly was, now holding his sister Sansa hostage in King’s Landing after his successful sack of the city, they came upon the three weirwoods. They were more groomed than most, and the faces crying red sap in the bark seemed friendly compared to the ones in the North. But that was not what drew Robb’s attention, but the table and three chairs placed under the bright red leaves, one chair occupied by a wizened old woman with sharp eyes. 

“Grandmother, what a pleasant surprise to find you here. Your Grace, this is Lady Olenna Tyrell, grandmother, this is—“ 

“Robb Stark, the wolf king. Of course I know who he is.” Lady Olenna lived up to the stories, Robb mused as he was ushered into one of the chairs and Margaery took the other. “Now, in my experience, men of the north aren’t one for the flowering words of the south. So, tell me what my idiot son has been promising you or, more accurately, what is my idiot son wimping out on?” 

Robb laughed, feeling at ease with her bluntness. The Queen of Thorns indeed. “Your son wishes to remain neutral, I believe he wishes to avoid King Stannis’ wrath more than he has already accrued by supporting King Renly.” 

“And what are your thoughts on stubborn Stannis and the Iron Throne?” 

“I want nothing to do with the Iron Throne,” Robb told her frankly, “I’d be happy to leave Stannis the hell alone, return North with my sisters and never step below the Neck again.” Robb was willing to return control of the West to the Iron Throne, once Tyson Lannister finished chasing raiders up and down the west coast of the North, and even assist in subduing the Iron Islands, but Stannis was unwilling to negotiate. He wanted Robb’s knee or head, nothing in between. 

“The King of the Five Kingdoms doesn’t quite have the same ring, does it?”

“Apparently not.” 

“So you march on the Crown Lands.” 

“Aye. Stannis took heavy losses sieging King’s Landing, and the city has had little time to repair from the sack.” Honestly, at this point, all he had to do was trot out Grey Wind, and most soldiers fled. 

“Well, I can’t promise you fifty thousand swords, but I can give you all the supplies you can carry and at least one contingent led by my angry and vengeful grandson Loras.” 

Robb bit back the incredulous ‘ _You can?!’_ only barely. “That would be a great boon, my lady. And in return?” Nothing is free in the South, despite the overabundance of resources. Did winter even touch the Reach? Autumn rains were making the Riverlands near impassable, but this far south it was still warmer than a Winterfell summer. 

“And in return you will take no mercy on a man who claims to be a worthy King despite being a kinslayer who burns the Seven. And, when the time comes, you will remember the generosity of the Reach.” Robb knew there had to be a trap somewhere, Lord Frey had asked for the moon just to cross a bridge and uphold his vows to the River Lord. But politicking gave Robb a headache, and this offer was what he needed for the march across the Storm Lands and Crown Lands. So Robb Stark left Highgarden with Ser Loras Tyrell, nine thousand swords, and enough wine to sate even the Greatjon (and a new handkerchief embroidered with a rose and smelled as lovely as the maid who had pressed a kiss to his cheek, but nobody knew about that except Grey Wind, the lone witness to his parting with Lady Margaery). 

* * *

Word from Riverrun reached Robb after the beheadings on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. Robb Stark had swung the sword over Stannis Baratheon himself, but Rickard Karstark had been granted the honor of swinging Ice over Tywin Lannister. Jamie and Tyrion Lannister were lost to the wind, and Stannis had killed every other lord and lady who had even shared a distant cousin with the Lannisters after his ascension. Tywin Lannister was the only revenge Robb could grant to the Karstarks, who had nearly revolted when Robb had spared the Lannisport Lannisters. Now Rickard wept tears of joy for the justice for his lost sons. 

Sansa came to him with the letter, his sweet sister Sansa, stronger than any man in his army bravely surviving both Lannister and Baratheon rule as a prisoner. It was Sansa who bore the news of the birth of his daughter, Princess Alysanne Stark, and the loss of Queen Roslin Frey, childbirth had been too much for her just as their mother feared. (Lady Catelyn was confined to the Crossing for her crime of freeing Jamie Lannister, and seemed to spend all her time writing to Robb critiquing his every decision.)

Robb felt he should be a great deal sadder than he was, but he had not even known Roslin a fortnight. She was beautiful and kind, and he felt more for Olyvar losing his sister than he did about himself losing his wife. “Alysanne?” Robb smiled at the name, the only Targaryen ruler liked in the North. “As soon as the princess is strong enough to travel, I’d like to meet her.” 

“So would I,” Sansa smiled, easily the most beautiful woman in the Six Kingdoms Robb now had a hold over. 

And speaking of beautiful women, in the weeks that followed Robb’s Justice (the Faith of the Seven restored to the people, numerous heads adorning the walls and a record-breaking amount conscripted to the Black) every woman holding a title was suddenly in King’s Landing. From young Rosamund Lannister, presenting the prisoner Asha Greyjoy on behalf of her father, to Arianne Martell with a pit of sand snakes, negotiating terms for her father. Dacey Mormont took huge delight in how uncomfortable Robb was with fawning women and never failed to steer him into crowds of women. Robb had an inkling that his long-time battle companion had an eye for Arianne herself, and was happy to leave the terrifying Martell heir to the Bear Island heir. 

So, when Olenna Martell’s wrinkled, withered face appeared in his court, Robb eagerly sought her out for a walk through the godswood. 

“I believe a favor I am owed, lad.” 

Robb liked that the matriarch of the Tyrells refused to acknowledge any man as a King. Robb did not even want to be the Lord of Winterfell, let alone King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. “Any requests?” He asked, hoping she would offer him a certain bride. 

“Your sister Sansa is a lovely girl, and my dearest grandson Willas is without a wife--“ 

“No.” Robb interrupted, not caring how rude he sounded. He had received many offers for Sansa’s hand since the Greatjon placed the burden of Kingship on Robb’s head, and advice from his mother on who he should consider. But Sansa had begged a simple request: to return home, un-married and un-promised. It was the least he could do for his sister, who he had left to languish as a hostage to a brutal Lannister and an unforgiving Baratheon. “Winterfell belongs to my sister, my lady. She will return to the North. But may I suggest another match?” 

“The insolence of youth, would you be standing her today without my aid, young man?” 

“Margaery,” Robb said without pause. Margaery had been in King’s Landing the last few weeks, handing food out to the poor, visiting orphanages and praying in the Sept with the new high septon. He had not exchanged more than a word with her, but whenever he looked her way she had a demure smile for him. He had been surrounded by ladies for weeks but could barely get a glimpse of the only one he wanted. 

“And what do you want with my favorite grandchild?” 

“I would marry her. If she would have me…” Robb trailed off as the last turn in the path opened to reveal the lady herself in question, stroking Grey Wind’s fur as the direwolf panted in delight. Lady Olenna had a smirk on her wrinkled face. No doubt this was her plan all along, the woman was a master player of the game that Robb really wanted no part of. Robb knew he was outmaneuvered. But at this point he really did not care.

* * *

Robb Stark’s second marriage took place in the Great Sept of Baelor, the new high septon was barefoot and wearing a dirty robe, but Robb only had eyes for Margaery, resplendent in a white gown with silver embroidered roses that conveniently matched the grey direwolf cloak he wrapped around her shoulders. Every soul in King’s Landing either witnessed their marriage in the sept or their carriage ride through the city returning to the Red Keep. But only a handful witnessed their vows before the great oak heart tree in the Red Keep’s godswood. Sansa was the only Stark in King’s Landing beside himself and administered the vows. Dacey Mormont and Rickard Karstark witnessed for the North. Lady Olenna and Loras Tyrell witnessed for the South. 

The wedding feast seemed to take an age, but Margaery was the most gracious hostess, despite the number of heads that presented throughout the meal. Roose Bolton gifted Robb with the heads of Theon Greyjoy and his bastard Ramsey, who had a list of crimes in the North Robb had not even been aware of. (Fat Walda bore Lord Roose a healthy son just over a moon ago, Margaery whispered to him.) Oberyn Martell had the Mountain’s enormous head beside his plate, none of the Martell guests seem to mind Ser Gregor Clegane’s blood soaking around their dishes. Oberyn had arrived in King’s Landing with his niece but had spent most of his time hunting the Mountain that Rides’ raiding party in the Riverlands with an odd but eager assortment of men. Rickard Karstark started toasting Tywin’s decayed head after his third goblet of the Arbor’s best. Loras had Renly’s helm with him, refusing to leave its sight. (Some whispered that this was a slight to King Robb, but the only living Baratheon was Lady Shireen, now living as a ward of Robb’s Aunt Lysa in the Vale. Poor girl.) Dickon Tarly nearly lost his head after one too many flowery sonnets to Princess Sansa, Wardeness of the North and Lady of Winterfell, but Margaery smoothed that encounter over as well by announcing the bedding ceremony. 

It was a month later when King Robb Stark, first of his name, met his daughter for the first time. She was called the Queen of the Crossing by all the Freys, the title irritated Margaery but Robb was lost to the tiny babe, a tuft of Tully red curls on her head and her mother’s beautiful brown eyes. And Margaery had little reason to complain nine months later when she bore a son, Prince Eddrick, with Margaery’s brown hair and Robb’s blue eyes. 

* * *

BONUS:

Sansa rode for the Wall as soon as she gathered supplies and men. Arya and Rickon both insisted on coming along, Arya for vengeance and Rickon because he would not be left behind _again_. Catelyn Stark remained in Winterfell (there must always be a Stark in Winterfell) despite her strong objections to any of her children leaving let alone all three. But, the three Stark children north of the Neck had spent years without a mother and while they were glad their mother was alive, they really didn’t heed her on what to wear for meals let alone something as important as this. 

Sansa and her siblings thunder up the King’s Road, with a host of Cerwyns, Glovers, Forresters, and an assortment of Knights and Lords all hoping to capture Lady Sansa’s fancy (they were all failing). When they reached Castle Black, Sansa was prepared to issue northern justice with the longsword Arya had commissioned from her blacksmith friend, it had been a joke gift for her sister the first Wardeness of the North, as Ice remained with Robb in the South. This was before Rickon had miraculously returned to them. Sansa still held the title of Warden and Lady of Winterfell for now, Rickon was too young and more wildling than lord. 

Sansa and her host marched into Castle Black, prepared for justice for the murder of the Lord Commander and brother to the crown, only to find Jon Snow alive and the traitors hanged. “Well, this is disappointing,” Arya sighed once was the four of them were in Jon’s chambers hours later, “I really wanted to watch Sansa try to behead someone.” 

“She made me practice on logs every night on the journey here,” Sansa held up her hands to Jon, calluses proving her point. 

Jon blinked, unable to reconcile the Sansa of his boyhood with the lady before him now. “But I think all the practicing scared away some of Sansa’s hopefuls. I bet at least five will retire to the south once we return to Winterfell,” Arya mused. 

“Well, then all that sword swinging wasn’t for nothing,” Sansa replied, gamely sipping her horn of ale like it was arbor gold instead of Edd’s homebrew. 

“You’re coming home with us, right?” Rickon demanded, glaring at Jon. 

Before Jon could say anything, how he longed to return but would not dare intrude, Arya reassured Rickon, “Of course he is.” And she smiled like she was nine again and Arya Underfoot. 

“I couldn’t intrude on Lady Stark’s hospitality,” Jon replied trying to keep regret and sadness out of his voice. 

“Nonsense, Jon. I am the Lady of Winterfell. Your vow to the Watch has been fulfilled to the death. You belong in Winterfell with us, you are our brother.” Sansa touched Jon’s hand, her fingers are warm and soft against his cold skin. Brother. Not half-brother, no mention of bastard or Snow. Jon’s eyes embarrassingly fill with tears. “Can you keep a secret,” Sansa half whispered with a sly smile, pretending Rickon and Arya are not squished with them, both notoriously incapable of secret keeping. “I have Robb’s secret decree back in Winterfell, naming you his heir just in case he died in the war and Roslin bore a girl. So, technically, if Robb and baby Eddrick die, the Seven Kingdoms are yours.” 

“What?” Jon was at a loss. Honestly, Jon had a hard time grasping that his brother Robb was King of anything, let alone the Seven Kingdoms and father of two babes. That Jon could be his brother’s heir was so preposterous his mind could not even comprehend it. 

“It was perfectly reasonable, I was a hostage, Arya was missing, Bran and Rickon thought dead. My point is, Winterfell is your _home_ , and no one will ever take your home away.” 

“Yeah, and if they try, they have to go through us,” Arya pounded her chest. “And every log between here and the Wolfwood is terrified of the great Princess Sansa.” 

Sansa smacked Arya and Arya giggled madly. Jon was in awe of his family, his sisters that used to fight like every argument decided the fate of Westeros now getting along, Rickon looking more like one of Tormund’s get than a Stark, and Sansa looking at Jon like he was precious. This time Jon did cry. 

Arya huffed, “Sheesh, Jon, good thing we’re here to protect you.”

* * *

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> And the united Seven Kingdoms take on the white walkers, easy peasy. Daenerys stays in Slavers Bay to fix her mess and doesn't have a ride to Westeros. Bran eventually comes back and tells everyone R+L=J, Jon freaks out while Sansa shrugs and says: cool, let's get married. Catelyn gives up and goes to live with her sister.


End file.
